The Surface
by ejectingthecore
Summary: Takes place immediately following the episode Shore Leave. Spock must go to the surface of the fantasy planet, where he gains some intimate knowledge.


I own nothing Star Trek.

This story takes place immediately following the action in the episode _Shore__ Leave_.

It's a one-shot. Complete!

* * *

**The Surface**

*

It is illogical to rest in motion.

Truly resting requires the body to be still, not engaged in any activity no matter how captivating or productive it may be.

And so he does not require shore leave. He has informed the captain and doctor of this fact, and they continue to shake their heads in amusement, finally cognizant of the fact they will not sway him in these matters. They are, after repeated shared experience, "getting to know" him.

He is the only crew member who does not have need of the fantasy provided on the planet below, a place where aliens contrive to physically manifest a being's very thoughts. Spock visited the planet briefly, for mere minutes, to ascertain its risk level and sort out logistics. He was approached by a delightful but irrelevant woman wearing no more than yellow feathers. One of the doctor's lascivious musings brought to life.

Spock does not need his thoughts made corporeal. He can see them vividly enough in his mind, and they are well ordered and relevant to work at hand, to problem solving and speculation. Not involving women clad in plumage.

The captain logically assigns him to remain shipside and in command.

But humans' thoughts are not always—or, more accurately, hardly ever—benign, and there comes a time when he is called to the surface to intervene between two ensigns from security who are engaged in ritual Roman battle and cannot be extricated from their dream.

Spock beams down to the coordinates that have been designated as a central transport point.

*

He beams down into stillness, but for a rustling of breeze through the leaves and blossoms of a plant that resembles in every detail Earth's _Xerophyllum tenax_. Above the sounds created by the breeze are the cries of birds that are in every way Earth-like. It is fascinating and pleasant, and he is drawn to the green brush ahead of him, with paths perfect in their size and labyrinthine quality for Humanoids to fit tightly, providing a sense of exploration and mystery as they seek out their deepest desires.

The entire planet, from flora and layout to faux life forms has been designed specifically for this crew. The mechanism is compelling of further study, but he must find the wayward ensigns, and so he presses on through the brush, his tricorder leading him to their location.

Along the way, he comes upon a crew member who makes him stop and observe. He had not considered that she might be here, nor wondered about what her fantasy might be. Lieutenant Uhura. She stands in a small, secluded grotto, examining the flora. She has a collecting tray and the syringes and brushes of a botanist at her side.

She turns toward the sound of his approach, and Spock first notes the satin-like quality of her skin in sunlight, something he has rarely seen. Immediately thereafter he logs the darkness and depth of her eyes, larger than typical for a Human. He has noted their exceptional size, shape, color and depth before. At the moment, they are lit up with interest, though what causes this brilliance he does not know.

"Mr. Spock!" Her voice conveys delight, with that ever-present undertone of a purr that draws her words out like a silk string connecting them. It is always there, whether she speaks of translations of alien languages or the dinner offerings in the mess.

After noting the spark in her eyes and the lilt and deep undertone in her voice, he then notices she is clothed quite differently than on the ship. She wears a one-piece jumpsuit, form fitted and allowing no need for speculation. It clings most alluringly at every turn, from her strong shoulders to tiny waist to luscious hips and curved bottom. It is sparkling green in color, lovely against her skin, making each--the clothing and the skin--seem more luminous than the other. In particular, Spock does not need to engage an iota of his imagination with regards to the shape and size of her breasts, as the suit is unzipped an indecent amount. He hooks a finger inside the collar of his uniform and wishes it weren't so hot.

A breeze ruffles his hair, and he is grateful for it.

He nods. "Ms. Uhura."

"Come!" She sparkles. "Look at these."

He approaches her and stands behind her at a respectful distance of approximately two-thirds of a meter, and he is immersed in her clean, feminine scent. He breathes deeply, and he imagines, for it could not be deliberate, that she leans her body back toward his the smallest amount.

He swallows and attempts to direct his attention to the item currently fascinating her. He follows the line of her lean, shapely arm, clothed in glittering green that gives way to rich skin and highly polished nails. One of those long nails brushes the tip of a stamen on an elaborate flower—an Earth-like orchid—while her other hand cups its labellum and lower sepals.

It is an epiphyte, clinging to the bush.

None of this aids his attempt to regulate his respiration, which has become erratic. He is dismayed by the various signals his body and brain are sending.

Uhura smiles brilliantly. "I have always dreamed of being a botanist. You wouldn't have known that, would you Mr. Spock?"

"Spock," his voice cracks. "Will be sufficient."

"Why certainly…Spock."

It is difficult to remain standing in close proximity, with his name dripping off her tongue.

"I did not know of your interest in flora."

"I love orchids." She sighs divinely, and her chest rises and falls with the action. "Are they not delicate and beautiful?"

"Indeed, they are." His own voice is far deeper than hers, a perfect male resonation with her female sound. "They have evolved to achieve a complex form of cross-pollination, and they are uniquely suitable for creating hybrids and cultivars."

"Correct, of course. But they are also pretty." She smiles up at him and it is indescribable. His eyes play over her sculpted face, following a small curl of her hair as it spirals against her cheek.

He has flirted with women before, experienced them flirting with him. He is suddenly realizing he would like to do so with Uhura. That he has wanted to do so for some time, perhaps not admitting it to himself. He decides to actively attempt to arouse her. He lowers his voice to a level he knows women find seductive and draws out his words. "They are bilaterally symmetrical."

"Yes, Spock," She sighs again, her chest repeating the rising and falling action that this time stirs his body in a most delicious manner. As she speaks she turns away from the orchid to face him fully. "Yes they are."

She takes a step toward him and reaches one hand, with its long luscious fingers and shining nails, up to his face. She rests it on his cheek, and he must admit, now, that he has watched her hands so many times, has wanted those fingers to touch him just this way. Where they touch him, his skin tingles. He cannot stand being apart from her body, and he pulls her in to him and encircles her with his arms. She feels delicious, more lush than he could dream. She presses the curves of her soft, gorgeous body into him, unbelievably finding places to mold to his slim and angular frame. They are perfectly matched in every sense. He places one hand against her lower back, dips his head to her, and presses his lips against hers. But he quickly draws away. He looks to her eyes, to be sure, and there he finds determination and hunger. He is beyond fortunate. He returns to kiss her again, and this time he does not stop. His hand drifts lower, and he opens his fingers to cup her round buttocks, and it makes him groan with pleasure. As his tongue reaches out and finds hers for the first time, he thinks again of her fingernails touching the orchid, and just as quickly feels them tickling the nape of his neck.

She draws back from kissing him and slides down the length of his body to kneel at his feet. He stands, dumbstruck, his arms dangling at his sides and his head bowed to gaze at her in adoration. Then she sits up on her knees and tilts her head back to see him.

"Spock. Let me show you how I have felt for so long."

His mouth is too dry to respond. She reaches to unfasten his pants, and he would help her but he cannot move, paralyzed with shock and desire. She gets them undone, and he musters the ability to push them down just far enough. He reaches inside and gently brings forth his hardening penis, holding and squeezing it to show her. He is afraid she will find its green hue repellent, but she sighs and looks at it with wonder. She touches it so gently, those fingernails and soft fingertips barely pressing against his flesh, making him move and twitch with desire for her until soon his erection is straining. She delights in making this happen, smiling and ghosting her fingers over him. He throws his head back and closed his eyes, and he almost climaxes from her simple, soft touches.

When he is thus not looking, she takes him with her tongue. He does not see her move to do so, and the sudden wetness of her tiny tongue sliding up his shaft and then encircling the head of his penis, twirling and teasing, makes him emit an inarticulate cry. He looks down to see his pale greenness sinking into her pink lips and dark cheeks.

"Please," is all he can say, and it is more a rasp of breath than a word.

He moves his hips to plunge deeper, and she takes him in, bringing one hand up to cup his sex like she did the flower. As he pumps gently into her mouth, she makes delicious hums of delight that vibrate until he comes explosively into her, bucking and grabbing her head and moaning as his pants slide the last centimeters to his feet and his phaser falls to the ground, forgotten.

He withdraws from her mouth and drops to meet her on his knees. He is so entranced with her, so excited, grateful, happy. He reaches a hand out and touches the zipper of her jumpsuit, then lowers it, ever so slowly, watching as glimpses of white lace bra are revealed, more of her satin skin, her strong abdominal muscles. He dips his head to taste her everywhere, and she moans and grabs his head and pulls him ever closer.

He wants to see more, and as if she can read his mind she pushes the suit down off her shoulders and lets it drop to her waist, and he lowers his head to lick just under the edge of lace that cups her breast. She presses her chest toward his mouth for more. He wants her lying back, bare for him, and before he knows it she has worked her way out of her clothing and drifted onto her back on the soft grass. She lies in a sea of soft green blades and green sparkling fabric, her dark hair glistening in the sun.

He adores her with his tongue, moving down her cleavage to her waist, and lower and lower until he licks under the edge of her panties before running a finger along the same path. She moans and pushes toward him, and he uses the same finger to pull the lace away from her skin. She helps him push the panties off and away, and he is faced with the intoxicating sight and scent of her. He touches her reverently, with one finger, then another, tracing the lines of her slick beauty. Then he bows to her, to taste her, inserting his tongue into her so she grinds her hips toward him, then removing it to run it over all her folds and finally her clitoris. He makes her squirm and moan, and he goes on to give her pleasure thus until she bucks and calls out half-words and what sounds like, perhaps, his name. He continues to very gently taste her until her throbbing subsides, then lays his head in her lap, and they both breathe in sympathy.

He lifts his head and rests his chin on her stomach, and she sits up on her elbows so she can see him. He finds her more beautiful than he has ever realized, even after observing her for so many hours on the bridge, so many days and evenings and throughout weeks and months. She is more beautiful here, now, nude for him and smiling—more radiant than he could have imagined.

After a moment that is far too brief, he remembers his original purpose in beaming down to the planet, and he is dismayed he has allowed himself to be drawn away from his duty, even by such a vision as Uhura.

He begins to put himself together, stands and pulls up his pants. "You are beautiful."

She smiles lazily up at him, in nothing but two cups of lace over her breasts, and he growls deep in his chest and realizes he must go immediately or be lost forever. He takes a final second to savor her. Her smile is enigmatic, not an expression he has ever seen on her lovely face. It makes her even more striking.

"I will see you, soon, very soon, when you return to the ship."

She simply cocks her head, amused as he awkwardly pulls himself together and leaves the clearing.

*

The gladiatorial issue is, surprisingly, still unresolved, and it takes Spock more than an hour to work with the resident aliens and extricate his men from their fantasy scenario. Upon completion of the task, he returns immediately to the ship.

Lieutenant Uhura is already at her post, her luscious hands flying over the controls at her workstation. She looks up and smiles at Spock, and he drinks in her eyes, the twinkle in them, their dark rich liquid color. She quirks her head and looks confused. Perhaps she is gently reminding him of his place on the bridge. She is a professional. But Spock cannot stay away from her, and his body drifts uncontrollably to stand behind her chair. He places a hand on the back of it, and this time he is almost sure her body does lean back toward his.

"Lieutenant." He discreetly runs his thumb along the back of her neck, where the fabric of her uniform meets her skin, and she sucks in a small breath. He speaks deeply, almost purring, having learned how it stimulates her. "It was delightful seeing you on the planet."

Uhura leans forward in her chair, wiggling away from his touch, so she can turn and look up at him, this time with wide eyes.

"But Mr. Spock. I didn't go down to the planet. I've been here at my post. I just started a double shift two hours ago."

He clears his throat, takes a step back and places his hands behind himself. For a short moment he is lost, the logic falling apart, the reality of her here in front of him a condemnation. His confusion and embarrassment no doubt appear as a simple pause in his bearing, which is observed, thankfully, only by Ms. Uhura.

"Please excuse me, Lieutenant. I have mistaken you for a crew member I saw on the surface."

"Yes," she whispers, searching his face now. Her eyes look to Spock as they did on the planet, surprised, hungry, amused. Then she raises a single eyebrow nearly to her hairline and says sweetly, "You must have."

He goes to his station stiffly, and she turns back to her work. He does not see her smile or shake her head. She can only wonder what her dream-self on the surface did to warrant that hot, sexy thumb on the nape of her neck.

Holy cats. She swears she is going to find out.

*


End file.
